A rather Joanna-centric Duffywatch post this time, I’m afraid, but I hope that there are sufficient pictures of Her Ladyship, Madame de Duffington by way of compensation for regular Duffywatch fans.

Robert and Duffy have been looking after me wonderfully throughout the last couple of difficult weeks in the run-up to my Dad’s funeral and beyond - each according to their very special skill sets.

This has mostly entailed, at various points: supplying me with a drink or tissues as necessary, reminding me to eat occasionally, putting an insistent paw upon me to remind me that what I really need RIGHT NOW is to look deeply into a pair of brown eyes, and various parts of anatomy being positioned across my lap.*

*[I’ll leave it to you to work out which of them was doing what. But don’t worry - no nightmares are intended in the writing of this post]

Duffy has rarely left my side, except for while we were in Oxfordshire for the funeral, during which time she turned her attentions to Jackie, my beloved step-mother, whose need was, Duffy had clearly recognised, greater than mine - even though Jackie may not quite have ordered Duffy’s specific brand of “care”. Lifelong trouper that she is, however, Jackie took Duffy’s solicitous insistence in her stride (even though she is more used to Scout, who is the more… how can I put this…? … dainty hound of my sister and her family).

Now that we’re back at Wrightington Towers, Duffy is again glued to my side. Admittedly, she’s not that far from her wonted position on the sofa, but the extra concern is clearly not my imagination - despite what I might have assumed before becoming the full-time handmaiden to a Duffy - and it is really most welcome.

In related news, I’m utterly overwhelmed by all of the wonderfully kind messages from many of you. Thank you so much.

Specifically on the subject of dogs offering comfort, Penny also sent me a lovely image, inspired by her visit to the National Gallery - which is touching not only for the sentiment but also for the remarkable similarity between Duffy and Lucian Freud’s hound. Granted, Pluto was a whippet rather than a lurcher, and so less throddy (to use one of Robert’s favourite inherited terms) than Duffy,* but in every other respect - the pose, the brindling, the entanglement of human and canine limbs, the tail-tuck, the expression - it could almost be Duffy.

*[Said without judgement, I hasten to add. I’m certainly a lot throddier than Freud’s daughter… ahem]

Having not really been a fan of Freud’s oeuvre, I hadn’t been aware of his penchant for his hounds (Robert was, of course. But as I’ve often said, that’s why he does the courses and I don’t), but this led me down a pleasingly distracting rabbit-hole, which has cast his work in general in a new light for me. An early example of his penchant for juxtaposing canine and human engagement also resonated with me - not least because this is how Duffy and I are often to be found.*

*[errr… Don’t worry. I tend to be more fully clad than this. I mean resonance in terms of respective poses and the interface between hound, woman, leg, and the edge of the seat.]

As I descended further down the Freudian rabbit-hole,* I came across a nice 2011 post, inspired by Freud’s death and reminiscing on Tate Britain’s 2002 retrospective, which I very much enjoyed (click here if you’d like to see whether you will enjoy it too).

*[Yeah. I know… Sorry-not-sorry!]

Said post includes this from Freud, which is also especially pertinent to Wrightington Towers:

The only thing I don’t like about them is what’s called doglike devotion. Also, I have a hatred of habit and routine. And what dogs love is just that. They like regular everything, and I don’t have regular anything. I have a timetable, but no routine.

Frankly, I am currently especially grateful for doglike devotion, so I beg to differ on that front, but the rest is relevant. As many of you know, Wrightington Towers is not a place of what most would consider a normal Regular Routine. We are very lucky that Duffy is able and willing to go with the flow.

Lest, however, you should be thinking that I’ve gone too mushy, I hereby temper the Adulation of Her Duffyness by noting that she’s still got something of the Carlisle street-dog about her. She knows that Duffies usually get a little tidbit of something lovely once humans have eaten. But that hasn’t yet stopped this particular Duffy doing her damnedest to ensure that any humans who may be so rude as to eat when she’s not cannot ignore how traumatic such restraint is.

I suggest that you view the photographic evidence (right) with a mental soundtrack based on the Jaws theme (DUH-duh, DUH-duh, etc) and I draw your attention particularly to the changing angle of the snout and shamelessness of the “But how could you, Daddy?” eyes…

Before anyone calls the Dogs Trust or RSPCA, I should point out that Duffy had actually been exceptionally well-tret (another Yorkshire-ism ahoy) - albeit by a lovely Denizen rather than us on this occasion. Courtesy of The Lovely Shiane, she had the sole physical Christmas present - beautifully wrapped, no less! - under our Christmas Tree. As you can see, she wasn’t in the least bit interested…*

*[That last bit is not in the least bit true. Ahem. Thank you so much, Shiane, Philip, et les chats - the treats also got us through Dad’s wake as bribes to ensure good Duffial behaviour!]

So with apologies for the Joanna-centricity of this post, we at Wrightington Towers raise our glasses to Duffy and to you, O lovely Denizens of Wright History. And, without apologies, to my lovely Dad.

The last time I saw him, he asked more about what Robert and I have been doing than he’d been able to for some time, and he was so happy to hear what I told him about you all. This makes me very happy.

How lucky are we to be part of such a lovely community? Thank you! Here’s to a good 2023 for all.